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Indolence
Name: Indolence Physical Age: 27 T'rue Age': 43 Gender: Male Faction: Sin Elements: R2 Shock, R1 Stone 'Power' Indolence's power is to do with magnetism. An electromagnet is a magnet that has a magnetic field when an electrical current passes through it. When in contact with a metal, Indolence acts as the electrical current, magnetizing the metal. Indolence can control the charge his electromagnet has, and tries to use polarity to his advantage. He can only magnetize metals that can be magnetized, and only on contact. He can control how magnetic his electromagnet is, or if it is at all. (Of course, all this talk of 'electromagnets' will not be mentioned in character. All Indolence knows is that it works the way it does, and not why.) 'Weapon' Indolence carries dual hatchets on his back and wears iron gauntlets. The hatchets have wooden hafts, but are ribbed with magnetized iron. Using his power, Indolence uses his gauntlets as a magnet to attract the hatchets, firming his grip in battle, but he will also reverse the charge and throw the hatchets, the repulsion creating a more powerful toss. His hatchets were forged by Mendacity. They are unique, but then again, who else would really need magnetic hatchets? 'Summon' Indolence's summon is a brown field mouse named Dya. He does not know why his summon was named after his mother, and at first, he found it very painful to think about the implications. With Dya's open personality and gentle demeanor, he has come to love her, despite what her naming may mean. He knows that she is not his mother, but she is rather reminiscent of her, and he takes comfort in that. Indolence is closer to Dya than he is to anybody else. 'History' In Rogueport resided a musician, famed for his talent, but also for his wealth and good looks. He lived in a large mansion with many servants, and his family. He had two children with his wife, and uncounted unacknowledged children, one of which was the child of one of his serving women. His two legitimate children mainly took after their mother, blonde and pale, not very tall, with noses like pickaxes. It had been a political marriage. But the serving woman's boy, he was a different story. His mother, Dya, had named him Dyrin. From his birth he had dark hair, and a purplish cast to his blue eyes, taking after his father. Only time would tell how closely he resembled his father, but truth be told, any resemblance was too much. Dya raised her son as best she could, between her household duties and being called to the master's bed. Nobody knew for certain who the father of her child had been, and Dya was mocked as a whore rather often. Dyrin saw this growing up, and admired his mother for her bravery. It wasn't her fault, but she would not defend herself against their abuses. Not if it meant endangering her son, for if anyone were to find out, there was a possibility it could get back to the master's wife, and the master would likely do anything he could to prevent it from reaching her. Dya had no doubts that she would end up weeping beside a Dyrin-sized grave rather than the lady of the house finding out. Dyrin was eleven years old when his voice changed. Normally, it would not be a big problem, but the boy was not only the very image of his father, but he also sounded like him. He had always had a tuneful voice, but when his voice changed, she could hear rather too much of his father. And if she could hear it, everybody else could too. She hurriedly took Dyrin aside and explained to him that he must be very careful with his voice, and he must never do anything musical, and limit his speech, lest someone make the connection between him and his father. He did the best he could, but hiding his voice would turn out to be the least of his problems. He looked exactly like his father. He was an attractive boy, his face bordering on a little feminine, but having a pleasing shape overall. His eyes were the same hue as his father's, and his dark hair would have been a dead giveaway had not his mother had a similar colouring. When the musician saw him one day, he knew who he was looking at, and he was not best pleased. When Dyrin spoke, the master recognized the same tones as his own, and his fury grew. Dya and Dyrin were immediately summoned before the master. Dyrin was instructed to remove his shirt, and the master strapped him until he bled. He remained silent during this, but when his mother was beaten, he wept. He wept because there was nothing he could do, and because she hadn't done anything wrong. It had been him. He felt certain that it was his fault, though his only crime was looking and sounding as he was. Just as Dyrin thought the ordeal was over, the master brought out a knife, forcing it into his mother's hands. He instructed her to scar Dyrin's face, to mar his beauty, and stop the resemblance between father and son. He made her do it, not wanting to get his own hands dirty, but he also did it to be cruel. Her hands were shaking, and she wept to do it, but Dyrin suspected she made it as painless as such a thing could possibly be. Her tears and his blood mixed on the blade, and when he bore scarring sufficient for the master, she let the heavy carving knife fall to the floor with a clang. Her eyes shut tightly, her knees give out, and she crumpled to the floor sobbing. The master dismissed Dyrin, but he meant to keep Dya for an evening. A little extra punishment perhaps, for her to have to sleep with the man that had just forced her to maim her own son. Either way, Dyrin fled as soon as he was able, back to the small room he shared with his mother. He hated himself for running away, leaving Dya to the attentions of the master, but he was afraid. The other servants remarked on Dyrin's scars of course. How could they not? But they let it go when it became obvious that it had been a punishment from the master. They didn't want to attract his wrath by questioning too closely. The scarring did the trick though. Nobody would believe that he was the master's son, though perhaps not the way the master had intended. Not a single person in the house would believe the master could scar Dyrin's face if he really was his son. So little they knew. Five years later, Dyrin's scars had made him less like his father, but no less handsome. Where he had been almost feminine, the scars gave him a rough look, making him less 'pretty.' His scars were visible, but not exactly ugly. The master had hoped to make Dyrin repulsive to look at, but Dya's gentleness had won out. He was still an attractive young man. That was the year that Dya died. Dyrin never knew exactly what happened. She had been with the master, and the next thing he knew, there was a small servant's funeral for her. He had no doubt the master had killed her, but he did not know how, and once again, he could do nothing. Of course, Dya had been the only reason Dyrin was permitted to live in the master's house, so upon her death, he was thrown out, left to make his own way in the world. Or more likely die of starvation on the streets. Either way, the master no longer had to worry about his wife finding out that he had sired a boy on one of the serving women. Dyrin spent a year on the streets, picking pockets when he could, or more often going hungry. The next year, he discovered that he could often live at taverns for free if he was willing to sleep in the worst accommodations, and sing for the patrons. Sounding like his father was finally no longer a curse, it would seem. He even began to enjoy this lifestyle, and he made a little coin, with which he mainly bought ale. Drinking led to womanizing, and he found that his face and his voice went a long way towards charming a woman. Almost constantly drunk, with a woman on his arm, Dyrin spent the next few years trying to forget his childhood and avoid anything that might have resembled effort or work. He moved from town to town, often leaving when men that he offended by stealing their women finally decided to take action against him. It wasn't long before he wasn't welcome in the smaller villages. He eventually ended up in Indafell. Even if he took up with the wrong woman, he could just find another tavern in the big city. The underground culture was huge in Indafell, and he'd heard a lot about gambling. He was never much of a gambler though, so he mainly avoided the places recommended to him by other drunks. Gambling was only fun if you were good, and getting good sounded like work. He began to boast that he could charm any woman, and he did seem to be telling the truth, from his record. Sometimes he did not have to sleep on the tavern floor at all, as rich housewives would take him in for a night or two when their husbands were away. He preferred tavern wenches though, and it should not have come as a surprise when he got one of them pregnant. Unfortunately, it did. He was dumbstruck. The woman's mother, a forceful old harridan really, insisted he marry the girl. Perhaps he would have, but at the time he could only panic. He ran, not from fear of marriage, but because he had come to a realization. How did he know that he did not have more illegitimate children out there somewhere? How was he different from the father that he despised so much? Using the looks and voice he had from his father, he had acted exactly as his father had. No, that wasn't strong enough, he had become his father. Though he would not admit it, he prayed for death in the weeks that followed. He never stayed anywhere very long. How could he keep on as he was when he loathed everything he had become? He had amassed a small fortune over the years, and he used it to stay at inns, rather than sing for his stay. Eventually, he turned to the south, away from settlements, as he could hardly bear to be around people any more. Everybody knew that there was nothing and nobody to the south but danger. And maybe he could find his death there. Find it he did, but not in the way that he had originally hoped. As he ventured through territory that he should not have, he was struck down by an immortal that he would later learn was named Arrogance. He had wished for a final end, but what he got was immortality. He had technically gotten what he wanted, but in practice, it was a perverse reversion of his desire. He was reborn as the Sin of Indolence. Indolence. One of the qualities that he most hated about himself, and now he was defined by it. It was his identity. Nothing could have pleased him less, but he decided that attempting to die rather than face his problems had been just another form of the hated Indolence, and this was his punishment. Before death, he had foregone singing for his supper, but now he took it farther. He rarely spoke, afraid that someone would hear the music in his voice, and he acquired a scarf to cover his face. Beneath his hair, only his eyes showed, as he pulled the scarf over his nose, afraid that anyone would ever find him handsome again. His summon, Dya, was a brown field mouse. He could not decide if this was a cruel twist, reminding him of his poor mother, or if he was supposed to take comfort in something reminiscent of his mother. He could not decide, so he let Dya determine how their relationship should be. To his surprise, she was kind to him, and comforting. She was not his mother, he had no illusions of that, but she was much as his mother had been. They grew very close. At Dya's urging, Indolence travelled to the lands of the Sins. He was greeted as any other, but he could not help but feel a distance between himself and everyone else. He felt alone among them, regretting what had led him to become one of them, as he saw few others do. He did make one friend however, oddly enough, the man who had killed him. Indolence was grateful to Arrogance for killing him, despite that it was not as final as he had hoped. He and Arrogance were not very close, but Indolence considered him a friend, if by comparison only. They were friends enough to exchange a greeting upon seeing each other, and for Indolence, that was as close as he got to another immortal. He felt alone among the Sins, but he was intrigued by the Virtues. Were they different? Rather than being defined by horrible actions and negative traits, it was said that they were named for good things. Part of him wished that if he had had to be reborn at all, he had been reborn as one of them, though he knew he did not deserve it. He made several attempts to penetrate into the territory of the Virtues, but was chased off many times by many Virtues, but more often than not, one in particular. Heroism was often the one to run him off, and over Indolence's many attempts, they began to recognize each other on sight. Indolence bore Heroism no ill will, and never really fought him. They would exchange some banter as Indolence fled from time to time, but there was little in the way of real animosity between them. Such is how he lived his life until the war came about. He had not been much of a fighter in life, but trying to defy his name, he had put in long hours of work with his weapon of choice. He was fairly proficient with his dual hatchets, both in close range, and at a distance as he had had them weighted for throwing, as well as magnetized to work with his power. He had gone to see Mendacity about his weapons shortly after his death, and she had gotten a strange look in her eye as she suggested the hatchets to him. He wondered what that was about, but he took her advice, and she was always the person he went to if he needed some forging. He trusted her opinion about weaponry. During the war, he did his duty to Lady Taint, fighting the Virtues, and all the while wondering if he really should be doing this. He was as glad as anyone when the fighting “ended”, even though it had left the Sins in a camp rather than a real home, and the tensions were far from resolved. He spends his days wandering now, wandering and wondering if he can really change himself for the better, or if his pursuit is futile. And what he should do if it is. 'Appearance' Indolence is 6'2” tall and wide across the shoulders. He has dark hair, almost black, and he leaves it shaggy and long about his face, though never beyond chin length. His eyes are blue, but they have a slight purplish quality to them. He always wears a light green scarf that he pulls over his nose to hide his face. Were he to remove the scarf, he would be a very handsome man with scars covering his cheeks. He knows that he is handsome, and during his life he often used this to his advantage, but after death, he has come to hate how he acted, and now he covers his face as if to deny his life before. He does not pay any care to his clothing, mainly wearing what will fit him. Sometimes this leads to jarring colour combinations, but he will usually try to attain nondescript browns or grays. His clothing is often patchy or riddled with holes, but usually clean. He carries his two hatchets on his back, and rarely removes his gauntlets. His ears are pierced in multiple places, but he chooses not to wear any jewelry. Similarly, he has a two small tattoos, one on his left hip and his right shoulder. They are both simple black designs, follies of drunken youth, as are his piercings. He does not show them to anybody, and they are covered by his clothing. Like his face, his back is also scarred, and also covered by his clothing. This is from being punished by his father. He moves with grace, and an odd languorous quality. He does not realize this, for if he did, he would likely try to move more clumsily, just to detract from any attraction he may hold. If one could see his face, he would likely be described as mournful. Though he hates his appearance, if in need of a disguise, it is not unknown for him to remove the scarf, tie his hair back, and don respectable clothing. He only does this in dire need however. 'Behaviour' The most important thing to know about Indolence is that he hates his appearance, and his voice. Most things that he does revolve around hiding these things. He wears his scarf and does not speak often. He hates the life he led, especially the fact that he was so indolent to return as Indolence. He tries to reverse this, working hard at what he chooses to do. He also avoids contact with alcohol and women in a romantic capacity, not wanting to be the man he was before death. He has spent a lot of time attempting to be a better person than he was in life. His interest has always been piqued by the Virtues, and in the past he spent a lot of time trying to get into Virtue territory. He is not quick to attack people, even Virtues, in the hopes that he can avoid doing more harm to people than he already did in life. Most often, he tries to live the opposite of what he was before his death. He had recently slackened his attempts to find out more about the Virtues, as he believes that he does not deserve to deal with them after fighting against them in the war. 'Other' The only item of clothing that Indolence takes care of properly is his scarf. Though he may change his other clothing when it wears out too much, he keeps the same scarf, and tries to keep it in good condition. Why? Because it was difficult for him to find the exact right colour. Why is the colour important? Because it was the colour of dress that he last saw his mother wearing. What colour is this might you ask? Why, it's this colourand funnily enough, that would be Indolence's text colour as well. Category:Characters Category:Sins Category:Shock Category:Stone